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And just at three the reply came.
“As 1 have little money left I must rely
upon your generosity. Amneh wanted to
return to the house of Sheykh Hassan, but
that is not to be thought of, so I have
been obliged to tell her that we all go to
the Turkana. 1 hope you don’t mind.
Perhaps in the train you may be able to
reason with her. I am sorry to have been
'the means of bringing so much upon youn,
especially since, as you say, the spell of
our ancient friendship seems to have
passed with time and distance. 1 hope
not to trouble you further, Alan.”
The note was signed with her initials
and altogether made Alan very unhappy.
And, fearing to trust himself again to a
pen, he merely sent a verbal message by
Dawson that he would be at the station
at a quarter to six, and that Dawson would
conduct the two ladies thither in an ara
beah. -
i His business at the\Govefi:norat. ineind
ing his proper identification and a rather
grudging agreement on Northby's part to
provide security for Amneh, having been
concluded satisfactorily, Alan went to the
railroad station, where his traveling com
panions were awaiting him.
Amneh wore a dark dress and was
heavily veiled, looking rather smart, and
even distinguished. Constance, whouse
face Alan’s gaze sought at once. smiled at
him and permitted him to hand her into
the carriage which they were to occupy.
€ But just as Amneh was about to step
into the train two men in native costume
rushed forward and ome of them caught
the Armenian girl by the arm. The other
was expostulating with the guard. The
train began <0 move, but the fellow
would not let go of the arm of the now
frightened girl, so Alan struck him once,
@ neatly timed blow on the jaw, and he
dropped.
The other man came running with a
crowd, but Alan drew an automatic quickly
*and they came to a stand. So he lifted
Amneh bodily into the carriage and shut
the door, keeping guard with his automatic.
The affair had happened so quickly and
the train moved on and in a moment the
danger had passed.
Alan sat opposite the
two girls with a
laugh. “Stupid sort
of a game,” he mut
tered.
Amneh was fright
ened, but Alan’s com
posure quickly re
stored her confidence.
“They wanted me,
Monsieur Alan,” she
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gasped.
“They won't get you," he replied. And
ghe thanked him with her soft eyes.
Constance, somewhat alarmed, was
shaken from her poise. But he soon saw
that all was not well with him and
Connie, who was too polite by half. After
the train rolled out of the station he felt
the gaze of the girl Amneh fixed upon him.
He smiled at her pleasantly and comforted
her in his bad French. She answered him
by monosyllables and a fleeting smile and
then resumed her wistful gazing.
Her look made Alan uncomfortable, for
he was beginning to feel sorry for her.
There was a childish ingenuousness in
her pretty face and a pathos in her recent
fright and attitude of dependence upon
his mercies that seemed to put a new
complexion upon the plans he had made
for her, which, from her point of view,
must seem inconsiderate and unfeeling.
He felt something of this, too, in the atti
tude of Constance Masterson, who indi
cated by her manner of polite acquiescence
in all hig arrangements that, like Amneh,
ghe, too, was obeying his instructions, not
because she wanted to but because she
had no choice in the matter.
Alan tried conversation and failed. Con
stance, having recovered.from the shock
of the encounter at the station, watched
the fellahin working in the rice fields,
and Amneh, silently, pathetically, continued
to zaze. And at last the Armenian girl
spoke. ¥
“T+ i 1 terrible that I should be such a
eure. ‘t'hey seek me—-those others. lam
sorry, Mongieur Alan, to be an incon
venience to von. But I am very much
frightened; 1 want so mhuch to go away
from this dreadful land of Egypt—on the
ghip—at once. [ promise that 1 shall not
disturb you or your boat—what you call
the Turkana'
Alan glanced at Constance helplessly,
but she continued to gaze out of the car
window, evidently enjoying his digscom
giture and intending that he should wriggle
gut of his predicament the best way he
could. Alan sat staring at the coat rack
above him, his mouth open, in dismay at
the thought of the explanations which lay
before him. He was sure that the Ar
menian young lady was going to cry
again—positive of it—and unless Connie
helped him there would’ be no end to
the deluge before they reached their des
tination, But there was no help for it,
and so he ventured with a gasp:
“It’s not that I don't want vou on.the
Turkana, my dear Amneh. Under oth¢r
circumstances [ should be delighted. Lots
of room and all that sort of thing. But
I've got to go on a special mission—er—
to find von Hengel—the Sheykh Omar, you
know, and 1 don't think you'd really like
it. Besides,” as the brilliant idea flashed
upon him, “you might get seasick.”
But Amneh, still regarding him, neither
wept nor pleaded and, to his surprise, only
smiled gently.
“I do not suffer from seasicknegs,” she
said, quietly.
“Oh, don’t you? I'm glad. I mean——
But you understand, don’t you, Amneh?”
He was conscious of Connie’s glance as
she listened.
“Oh, yes, 1 understand,” said Amneh,
gravely,
“You want me to stay at Alexandris
until the next steamer to London, when
I shall sail alone to your friends.”
“That's it, precisely,” said Alan, bright
ening perceptibly at the sensible
statement. “We will take you to
the Hotel Khedivial, which is near
the railroad station, and there you
will wait a few days in ease and
quiet until you are put aboard
the steamer by a friend of mine.”
“I understand,” she said, slow
ly. “I must do as I am told.”
“That’s it. In London you will
stay at a small hotel until I send
for you, and then,
my dear, you shal.
come to America.”
“Yes. C’est bon
ca. I should like
to go to America.”
And then, while
he wondered, some
what bewildered at
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accomplished, she asked a question.
“It is not because you do not like me,
Monsieur Alan,” she spoke, wistfully, “that
you do not want me upon the Turkana?”
She was so helpless, so appealing, that
before he knew it he leaned forward and
caught her by the hand. i
“Bless your heart, child! Of course not.”
And then, warmed by the enthusiasm of
his unforseen gsuccess, “I wish I could
have you, you know. It really would be
very charming. But, then, the conven
ances! It would not be quite the right
thing, you see.”
“Oh, I understand,” said Amneh, quietly,
“you are thinking of me?”
“Precisely. It wouldn't exactly do, you
know.” '
Amneh was silent a moment, still regard
ing with him with the eyes of a child.
“Madamoiselle has said that you were
kind, Monsieur Alan. 1 know it now.
What you do will be always right.”
And while Constance resumed her gaze
out of the window Amneh sank back in her
seat and relapsed into silence,
The journey seemed interminable., Alan
made one or two futile attempts ‘o engage
Constance in conversation, but when
darkness fell she seemed to sink into
slumber and he sat, grieved and rebuffed,
in his seat opposite, finally closing
his eyes, to think of his great plan and
to try to forget the unfortunate misun
derstanding with the woman he loved.
Once or twice, when he opened his eyes,
he found the gage of Amneh still fixed
upon his face, but he saw that her eyes
were no longer frightened, and so he
smiled at her and she at him. She really
was very pretty and so dependent on the
whim of the world!
< At Alexandria, as they were dismount
ing from the train, Alan was on his guard,
and Dawson and Hoagland, who met them,
made rather a formidable barrier from
any attempt at a capture. Two men fol
lowed their arabeahs around the corner,
afoot, but Dawson and Hoagland jumped
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out and ran at them and the fellows took
to their heels. But the ' thought that
Amneh was pursued added to the burden
of Alan's responsibilities. i
He saw Constance and Amneh comfort
ably placed in their rooms at the hotel.
The Mercy, they found, was to sall late
that night for Busra, joining the forces of
the Mesopoptanian expedition, so Con
stance decided to stay at the Hotel Khe
divial until Amneh was safely installed and
securely hidden in her rooms with men
to watch. Alan arranged that ‘with the
management and Constance gave Alan her
hand at parting and t' anked him coolly.
He asked her forgiveness for anything
she didn't like. She granted it and then
turned away. Amneh stood at the door.
“If 1 was captured again, Monsieur
Alan!" she whispered. .
“You are sure that it is because you
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aon’t Inke me, that you don't take me on
the Turkana?” she repeaied. .“That. it is
on my own account that you do not take
me?”
He took her hand and kissed it gently,
“I'm sorry,” he said, “but you must
trust in my judgment. Good-by and God
bless you.”
“Good-by, Monsieur Alan” she said,
plaintively.
As he went out of the door Alan turned
back for a last look at Constance, but she
had disappeared into the inner room. It
seemed In that moment that he would
have glven all of his milliong for a smile
from her. He couldn’t understand. . P
Women were gtrange creatures,
- * * * * - L
He had a further confirmation of this
conclusion when, seated on deck with
Hoagland that night discussing his plans
for the recovery of the Black stone‘ into
which hig captain had entered with ‘avid
ity. a note was bronght ahoard the
Turkana and handed to him. It was ad
dressed hurriedly in Connie’s hand.
“Alan,” he read, “Amneh has disappeared
from the hotel, leaving no word, I'm
afraid they have taken her. 1 must go
aboard the Morey at once or she will sail
without me. Neglect no means to find
Amneh, Alan. It is a terrible rezponsibil-
Copyright, 1919, by Star Company.
Iy, Butlean do nothing. My boat leaves
the mole in ten minutes. Good-by.
“CONNIN,.”
“P. S.—l was beastly to you. Forgive
me. Try the Red Sea. o
~ CHAPTER XVII.
Venus from the Waves.
TWO days had passed and the search
for Amneh, conducted diligently
between important {intervals of
military preparation, had revealed nothing,
The Armenian girl had vanished.
Alan was very sorry for her and he could
not dismiss a sense of guilt in the matter,
for she was too pretty and too inexperi
enced to remain safe for long in a land of
such complete wickedness, and his wish to
fulfill the injunction of Connie to find her
at all costs under the weight of the kind
of esponsibility suggested seemed like
the last duty of a dead romance. So Alan
had gone ashore and personally searched
for her throughout the native quarter, of
fering large sums of money ‘o the person
or persons who would bring her to light—
but without avail,
And so it was with mingled feelings
that, his preparations for sailing about
completed, Alan gazed toward the lights
of the city and wondered what else he
could do before to-morrow to fulfill Con
nie's last request, for before noon the ship
ment of gold, guarded by British soldiers,
would be brought aboard the Turkana.
Also Daoud would come. The Turkana
was to move immediately down to Port
Said and thence Into the Canal, forming
a movable base for any expeditions Alan
must make into the interior,
The concluding paragraph of the note
from Connie had made him very happy
and the concluding phrase very hopeful.
Von Hengel had told her something, but
whether the {nformation meant anything
or not was difficult just now to determine,
“Try the Red Sea” had a feminine indefi
niteness and indicated a woful deficiency
in geographical learning on Connie’'s part,
which Alan more than half suspected, or
elge merely a lack of knowledge or even
a suggestion of a false clue, which would
be worst of all. But as the information
scomed to tally with the few crumbs that
he had gathiered here and there and sup-
Great Britain Rights Reserved.
ported the theory that “the Black Stone”
must move to the eastward, Alan had de
cided to sail at once and trust the rest to
luck.
The sky blazed with stars and the after
deck awning had been I>lled back so ‘hat
Alan might enjoy them, Forward some
where could be heard the voice of the
delighted Hoagland training the men of
the Turkana in squad evolutions,
With the exception of Connelly, who
had been put ashore, the gailor-men had
been keen about the new expedition and
were entering into the training with an
enthusiasm which knew no abating, Many
of them had been in the navy of the
United States and were familiar with the
useé of the rifle, and the training of the
‘remainder was so go bn steadily during
the progress of the yacht along the coast.
They knew, too, in a general way the kind
of work that was to be expected of them
and looked forward to a brush with the
Arabs with rare delight.
The men from the PBritish navy
yard had made a quick job of instal
ling the four-inch rifles, the cool muz
zle of one of which projected aft just
by Alan’s head. The work of the gun
crews had proved reassuring, and al
ready Alan salt a strong thrill of
desire to be off and along some sandy
coast where he could try some prac
tice with them.
Life was surging violently in Alan.
His perfect health, born of years of
consistent training ¢of muscle and tis
sue, seemed (o he sceking some out
iet, some justifica
tion. He felt quite
sure that he wanted
M\ to fight, to put in
&\ to use the one pur-
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%¢] feel safe here with you. You are so strong. But even death would
be better than zoing to England alene,’ she whispered, all
the while caressing the hand that held hers, patting
it gently in confidicg -flection.”
poseful thing that he had accomplished in
all his wasted years. He liked blows-—to
give and take them-~they had always been
the only things that kept him awake.
It the thought of Connie's unkindness
had made him unhappy, his other pros
pecis delighted him, If it hadn’t been for
his failure to find poor Amneh! And yet,
from his Investigations at the Khedivia!
there seemed no chance that any one had
approached her rooms. It seemed as
though she had'fled in very terror, Poor
Amneh! v
The Ilight out near the hreakwater
winked solemnly, illuminating the quiet
harbor, across which Alan could hear dis
tinctly the distant sounds of a hotel orchey
tra in the town, mingled with the raitle
of an arabeah along a cobbled strest. In
the Palace of Ras-et-Teen, jngt opposite,
lights flickered out, and suddenly, the crew
of the Turkana having gone helow, a com
plete silence zeenied to fall, in which he
could hear the gentle lap of water against
the launch at the hoom,
All was very peaceful, and, awaiting his
evening interview and smoke with Hoag
land, Alan dozed in his deck chalr. But
in a moment something awakened him
again and he started up, listening to a sof*
plashing of oars nearby and the low mur
mur of volces. A native bow! was ap
proaching the santway, He got up and
went forward, jolning the mda of the
watch on deck, who wes already warning
the boat away. But at the top of ‘he
*ladder Alan stood peering down at the
figure in the stern of the craft, who had
already espied him.
“Monsieur Alan!” cried a voice in child
ish treble, “Monsieur Alan! lam come!"”
With mingled feelings of dismay and
relief Alan went down and helped Amneh
to the boarding grating and so up the
ladder to the deck. There was nothing
else to be done,
In the light of the salon, whither he
led her, Amneh appeared to be very weary
and somewhat bedraggled, but he brought
her to a comfortable chair and made her
sit. Hoagland stuck his head in at the
door in amazement, but Alan waved him
away, ringing for the steward, who brought
refreshments.
“Yon are angry, Monsteur Alan?” she
asked, timdly, when they were alonae.
How could he be angry when he had put
in the better part of the last forty-eight
hours looking for her? And his reply re
assured her.
“l am sorry, Monsieur Alan,” she said,
smiling at him with her child’s eyes. “I
ran away and hid. You said that it was
not because vou did not llke me that X
could not go.”
“1 do like you, Amneh, of course.”
“You also said, Monsieur Alan, that it
was upon my own account that you did not
take me. Is it not so?”
Alan nodded.
“That it was because of me—because of
the convenances, because it would hurt
my—my reputation?”
“Yes-—er—partly that.”
Amneh had drawn the long pins out of
her large hat and now tossed it upon a
chair with the air of one Ivho has made a
splendid resolution. Then she smiled at
him, showing her pretty teeth.
“Bh bien,” she said with a shrug of
finality, “I have no reputation.”
And Alan remained silent in sheer
dismay.
“l do not care,” she went on. “What
does it matter? Who cares what becomes
of me except you, Monsieur _AJ:n?”
- UL, Aluca T
“I could not go all alone
to London. It would be
too terrible. I should die.”
“But, Amneh”——
“Monsieur Alan, 1 am
come to be with you.
Mademoiselle said that
vou were kind and [ have
seen it for myself. You
would do nothing to make
we s=uffer from terror of
cold Englishmen whom X
i not know."”
“But, Amneh’ -
“1 \shail kil myself £
you send me away to Eng
land, T could not survive
the loneliness. [ have suf
fered much, - Monsieu:
Alan. Be kind to me and
let me stay. Your face i:
trying to look severe, Hut
it snnne because your
heart is too great. | knew
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that it would be soo. and therefore 1
hid until 1 could come out to you to-night
and plead with you for my happiness
You will not send me away, Monsieur
Alan?”
She had fallen upon her knees at hie
feet, er hands clutching at his arms, her
face raised appealingly to his. Slowly he
raised her and led her to the divan that
ran the length of the room, where he sat
beside her. le understood now the reason
tor her sudden acquiescence in his plans
ihe other day and the reason that she had
not wept, for all the while she had been
planning this, There was something ad
mirable in her determination. . . .
“Hut, Amneh,” he repeated, “the Turkana
is going upon a mission of great danger.
We may be shot at and people may be
killed.”
But his remonstrance did not alarm her,
“Ah, I feel safe here with you. You are
80 strong. But even death would be bets
ter tham going to England--alone,” she
whispered.
All the while she was caressing the
hand that held hers, patting it gently, in
confiding affection. Her head was now
howed and her dark hair hai fallen i
dizord:» about her shoulders. She was
Ithe a child in trouble over a list play
thm Alan felt himself suddenly weak
i s resolve, and, to gain obdaracy,
{ hunted for a pipe,
ht, 1010, by Btar ('l)(lll!lhy
To Be Continued Next Sunday.
9